Chapter Twenty-Two
“THATSHIMMERING OLIVE GOWN DOES wonders for your complexion.” Tess stepped back as the three friends admired their reflections in the floor-length gilded looking glass. “Your suitors will not be able to keep themselves from your side.”
“I will not make the mistake of assuming I have any suitors again.” Muriel fidgeted with an unruly curl framing her face. “I will only allow myself to assume a gentleman’s feelings after he proposes—even then I doubt my judgment given my previous fiancés.”
Vivienne wrapped her arm about Muriel’s shoulders, careful not to crush the delicate sleeves. “This time is vastly different. Deverell has made no secret that he is attempting to win your hand, Muriel. By the end of the ball, word will have spread to the neighboring families, which we all know will lead to news reaching Kent of Deverell’s intentions toward you, along with Lord Draycott’s attention.”
“I fear you are right.” Muriel readjusted one of the diamond pins sprinkled throughout her coiffure. While it might be all well and good to wear a crown out in the country, it would be unseemly to don anything other than diamond pins and feathers with actual royalty about and wearing their coronets passed down from generation to generation, not simply purchased at Garrard’s on Regent Street.
Vivienne frowned. “You fear I am right? Is not a proposal from Deverell what you seek? I know we discussed your feelings for Lord Draycott when we first arrived, but that was before the baron appeared.”
“We all know how smitten she was with Baron Deverell only weeks ago.” Tess snorted. “Vacillating so after a proposal—”
“Is reprehensible. Nonetheless, the whole point of this drastic change of scenery was to find a brilliant match,” Muriel interjected.
“To be honest, he is not my first choice in a husband for you after all that you have endured, but even I cannot argue his actions in following you across the counties would not only redeem your breach of etiquette but make you a part of one of the most romantic tales people have ever encountered. His proposal would confirm he did indeed find himself too entrenched with Miss Fox to accept Muriel’s original proposal, and now that he is unencumbered, he wishes for nothing more than to secure her hand.” Vivienne shook her head. “And yet, I must ask, what of your earl? Have your feelings progressed? Has he spoken to you?”
Muriel turned away from the looking glass and moved to the window, staring out onto the moonlit garden beyond the castle’s lake. “From what I can tell, Erik only wishes for friendship, and, as I have learned so harshly in the past, I will not under any circumstances allow myself to speak out of turn again. If Lord Draycott wished for anything more, he would have spoken.” She folded her hands at her waist. “I must be stronger than I was this spring.”
“I too supposed Lord Draycott would have spoken out by now,” Vivienne admitted, scowling.
At the chime of the clock atop the mantelpiece sounding the tenth hour, the women started and snatched up their gloves in a flurry of satin and feathers, making haste down to the banqueting hall. The servants had transformed the austere, masculine hall into a fairy garden. On the ancient wheel chandelier, ivy was woven around the wheel and spokes with purple blooms that dripped over the rim, creating the illusion of streamers. All about the room, there were flower arrangements, including the ones the gentlemen had made yesterday, bringing the very meadow indoors. Along the walls, there were long linen-draped tables with a veritable feast upon them that the guests could enjoy at any time. The violins were already playing, and the country gentry stood in the reception line flowing from the foyer that led out to the first courtyard, awaiting admittance as they greeted their host.
Her breath caught at the broad shoulders of Erik in his ebony dress coat. He cut a fine figure and looked every bit the earl. As if sensing her gaze, Erik turned and spotted her, his full lips parting into a broad grin.
Vivienne squeezed her arm. Of course, she would see the interaction. “See. He does care for you,” she whispered through her smile. “I know you must have something concrete, but my heart would break to see you marry the wrong gentleman when Lord Draycott simply needs time to step forward.”
Muriel clutched the neck of her fan. “I do not have the luxury of time.”
At the butler’s signal for the next guest, Erik returned his focus to the couple at hand. Though she thought he did so with a sigh, judging from the slight rise and fall of his shoulders before he turned to his guests with his brilliant smile. The absence of his attention left her colder than she had been only moments before.
“Miss Beau, you are a vision.” Baron Deverell bowed to them at the bottom of the stairs, lifting his hand to her. “Would you do me the great honor of granting me the opening dance?”
She had hoped to open the ball with Erik. As he had never asked her, she could hardly argue such a thing. “The honor would be mine, Baron Deverell.” You can do this. You can love Deverell again.
“We were thrilled to receive your invitation, Lord Draycott. Honestly, with you away at sea for so long, we were beginning to think the castle was in danger of having to be sold off. It would have been a pity to allow it to fall out of the family after being the Draycotts’ seat for centuries,” Lady Pomphrey commented, motioning to the lady behind her. “You remember my daughter, Lady Cecilia? I believe you may have met her in London at the Hughlots’ ball?”
Erik bowed to the slender lady before him, whom he vaguely recalled. There had been so many ladies clamoring for his attention that night, which was quite disorienting after years of hardly interacting with any women. “Of course. Very happy to see you again, Lady Cecilia.”
“Yes. It was rather a trek from our vast estate, but as she’s our only unattached child remaining, we considered it could be worth the drive.” She eyed Erik with a frankness that took him aback. “Perhaps you would like to open the dancing with her?”
Erik’s mouth felt dry. How did he confess he wished to ask another? He should have secured Muriel’s answer last night. But, as Lady Cecilia was the first young lady whose mother was bold enough to ask, he bowed to her and extended his hand. “If the lady agrees?”
Lady Cecilia turned crimson but placed her hand in his as Erik nodded his greeting to the guests behind in the line. Trumbull at once took charge as Erik escorted Lady Cecilia to the ballroom for the opening minuet, taking their place at the top of the set. The ladies and gentlemen quickly found their places behind him, Muriel directly to Lady Cecilia’s left in her brilliant gown.
“You must forgive my mother. She is always attempting to arrange a good match for me,” Lady Cecilia whispered as their palms touched. “I believe I shall forever be uncomfortable at dances until I am married, for I shall always be wondering what scheme she has up her sleeve.”
Erik laughed, garnering Muriel’s attention. He knew if he glanced her way, he would forget the figures of the dance. “I understand the feeling.”
“I’d imagine it is all new to you, though, with your being able to escape society for so many years aboard your vessel. I quite envy you.”
“Oh?”
“To have such freedom is truly marvelous.”
“Yes, but to remain untethered for so long can have adverse effects.” He dared a glimpse toward Muriel, who was laughing on the arm of Deverell.
Her eyes widened. “Such as?”
Such as now possessing the fear of marrying and having a familybecause I have a dangerous position that could cost my loved ones their lives. The flags fluttering above the river with their painted warning still wrenched his gut. He had foolishly hoped his retreat to the country was enough for Requin to forget his threat … however, years of experience should have taught him that revenge never forgets. “Such as attending country dances, Lady Cecilia.”
She laughed as the music ended and he escorted her from the floor, leaving her in the care of her mother so that he might speak to Muriel. However, every time he had nearly reached Muriel through the crowd, the baron was always there, sweeping her away to taste some delicacy, or join a dance, or a neighbor would approach Erik and pull him into a long-winded conversation. It was positively maddening. After seeing her dance and laugh with Deverell, he was finding he could not withstand his need to speak to her—to make an offer for her hand, despite his instinct to withdraw in order to protect her after the last warning.
Perhaps he did stand a chance. After all, he possessed everything she wished for when she started out on this journey to find a husband. Although, she had never flirted with him. Was he not wealthy enough to gain her attention? But, knowing her character, he knew Muriel was not as shallow as society believed her. She was the sort of woman he wanted at his side through life. He needed someone strong, who would be independent enough to remain at home alone for months on end while he served the Crown. Perhaps if he offered her something more than Deverell could, she would be open to his request. What might she say if he purchased the bakery in Draybridge for her to run as she wished? She had said it herself. What other gentleman would be amenable to his wife working when she should be playing the fine lady? He did not care what she did, as long as she placed her hand in his … forever.
“Miss Beau.” Viscount Sullivan bowed to her. “I find I am at a loss in this sea of guests, and you are my anchor.”
Muriel glanced over her shoulder to see if Elena was nearby. “There are certainly more guests than I thought would attend tonight. Though, I suppose a new earl garners much interest, far and wide.”
“As well as near.” He winked.
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“We all see how he looks at you, Miss Beau, and we both know of your evening of baking with him.” He reached for her hand, his drink sloshing in his other hand. “You have yet to give me my lesson, you tart little coquette.”
She snatched her hand back, curling it into a fist. “You are drunk.”
“And you are just a light-heeled kitchen wench dressed in gilded feathers who shouldn’t be putting on airs.” He threw back his drink and tossed the glass into the arms of a passing footman.
“How dare you? A lady is a lady because of her character, not her birth.”
“Spoken like a true kitchen wench.”
She ached to slap him, but knowing such an action would reflect poorly on herself, she bolted from him and escaped onto the stone balcony for some much-needed air. She would earn Elena’s ire, no doubt, but she could not allow Elena to bind herself with such a wretch as Viscount Sullivan when he was not committed to the woman he was pursuing even in the earliest stages of that pursuit. He was a man without honor to say such things to her, and she would see to it that Elena knew what kind of so-called gentleman she was seeing before it was too late to retrench.
Baron Deverell may have done the same to her only weeks ago in his vacillation between her and Miss Fox, yet she truly did not think he meant it in ill spirit. He had only protected himself from a known jilt. She knew the man’s character … or at least she thought she knew Deverell’s character. Still the Miss Fox chapter in their relationship was disconcerting, even though he had been the model of a smitten gentleman since. Lord, what do I do? I know You have forgiven me for my moment of weakness. Father said to evaluate the man on his character and not his title. You know my circumstance, and You know the baron’s. Let me not misjudge him the way I was judged. Guide me, Lord.
“I find you alone at last.” Erik’s voice embraced her from behind.
She whirled about, her heart skittering, the flickering torches lighting the balcony casting his handsome face in shadows. “Erik, you managed to slip away? What will your guests think?”
He chuckled, drawing nearer to her. “Well, I wished to ask you for the first dance.”
Her brows lifted as the strains of the fourth dance could be heard already. “Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged and leaned on the railing beside her. “It never seemed like the right time before the ball, and then, before I knew it, I was escorting a Lady Cecilia.” He rotated his wrist, rubbing where the bandage had been for so long.
“How exactly did you injure your wrist anyway?” She leaned against the railing as well, lifting her gaze to the stars above. “You never told me.”
“I wished to tell you—many times.”
“An intrigue?” She twirled around to face him. “Pray, do not keep me in suspense, Erik.” But, at the serious light upon his expression, her mirth faded. “What happened?”
He cleared his throat. “There are things you do not know about me. That many people do not know—”
“The reel is about to begin, Miss Beau,” Baron Deverell called from the French doors, extending his hand to her. At her hesitancy, he smiled. “You promised. Will you break my heart over a dance?”
Blast.She looked back to Erik, who nodded his farewell, ending their confusing conversation. He once again had not promised anything, but there had been promise in his eyes, his touch—the words unspoken. She shook her head. She could not allow herself to be drawn into the unspoken again. She needed a man who was not hesitant about her or her future.
Deverell swung her onto the floor. “Do you recognize the melody?”
Her eyes widened. How had she failed to notice? “It’s the song that was playing when I proposed to you.”
“And I was loath to reject you then. Now this song gives me the opportunity and the honor to repay your kind act.” He paused in the center, the chandelier’s candles dancing overhead as he knelt on the banqueting hall’s stone floor.
“Baron?” She gasped. He is going to propose! He is going to propose. Her stomach twisted. She should say yes. She needed to say yes. The crowd paused, encircling them, those in the house party smiling behind their fans and whispering to one another. Her eyes found Erik on the outskirts of the crowd, and she was shocked to find him scowling in a manner that sent chills down her spine. In that moment, he was very much the dangerous sea captain and not at all the distinguished gentleman earl. Surely, he must care. But at the very next skip of her heart, she remembered he’d had every chance to declare himself.
“My dearest Miss Beau. Not long ago, I was given a glimpse into heaven when you spoke to me. I was a fool for waiting this long, and I pray you will not take my foolishness as a reflection of my feelings for you. They are as strong as they were the day I met you, and I am kneeling before you now, a man who has longed for no other. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The crowd of dancers had paused by now, along with the orchestra. She swallowed. She did not wish for him to think her vacillating, but to make such a choice now? After such a confusing conversation with the man she loved with all of her being? Surely, it would be wrong to accept one man when another filled her every thought—her every breath.
She bestowed upon him her most charming smile, dipping her head in modesty. “I am honored, Baron, and because I hold you in such high regard, I will take up your request in prayer and let you know of my answer upon the morrow.”
His grin faltered slightly as he rose, extending his hand to her and escorting her from the floor.
“I want you to know I would never attempt to humiliate you by my hesitation as an act of cruelty,” she whispered, clutching his arm. “It is only that I truly need to bring this matter before God. I will not act rashly a second time.”
His gaze softened. “Then I shall pray for a favorable outcome.”